


Let It Hurt

by kjstark



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Again -- not beta'd, Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M, Multi, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Élite spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 07:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16322000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjstark/pseuds/kjstark
Summary: He really is sorry.That he killed Marina.That he hurt Gúzman and his family.That he loves Carla and Christian more than he can even comprehend.





	Let It Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> Again, it's me, ya' demigender girl/boy. I still can't get enough of this trio and since some of you were so nice to me yesterday, I had time to write another prompt I got on tumblr ("Polo over the edge of a roof and Carla & Christian trying to talk him out of it"; no roof because that was a little too dramatic for my taste but well, if you feel like this is a rip-off from Gúzman's last scene with Lu, then, I feel ya', you deep down you know this is better 'cause the trio is better).
> 
> MASSIVE WARNINGS for Attempted Suicide and very depressing, suicidal thoughts. I hate these kinds of fics because I struggle with these topics a lot but I was feeling like writing this scene after I got it played out in my head, that being said, I hope you guys enjoy it, and if you're depressed, please seek help, the world needs you <3

It takes Polo two weeks to hit rock bottom.

Carla still ignores him when he tries to reach for her in the halls, then texts him they can’t be seen together, reminding him. Christian is still attached to her side like he used to.

And Gúzman is a mess; an utter and complete mess. He shows up drunk or hungover to class and him and Ander have no idea what to do with him; he’s never been the one to abuse of substances out of all three of them. But Lucrecia –go figure why, since the last time they talked to Gúzman about her he was calling her a mistake—has taken it up to her to take care of him.

Ander feels quite bad about it but Polo? Polo uses every ounce of his willpower to stop from cracking, from crumbling. Their best friend was miserable because his sister had been killed.

And Polo had been the one who did it.

He can still see Marina in his sleep; her lost, nearly dead eyes, her thick, black-ish red blood. She shows up to him every single night when he’s sleeping, endlessly muttering whys. Polo wished he could answer her.

He just had wanted the watch, to set things right with the one person that mattered. And then he had wanted for Marina to just shut up.

But she did neither, so Polo was trapped, choice-less.

And he’s never been good when left without choices.

Lucrecia takes Gúzman’s drunk ass to the bathroom and Ander and him have nothing left to do but watch him go. They’re at La Cabaña, summer’s just about to really begin.

Ander shakes his head and touches his fries. “What can we do for him?” he asks Polo, his bright brown eyes shine with worry.

It makes Polo sick, suffocated with a self-hate that boils his skin. His murderer skin. “I can’t take this anymore,” Polo bursts, standing up.

“What—Polo!” Ander shouts behind him but he doesn’t hold back. He can’t.

He’s gotta end it.

He drives to the lake like he did that cursed night, right to where he dropped the trophy that could end his life as he knows it.

It takes him about fifteen minutes to get to the stoners’ not-so-special spot. He walks, strutting, like his soul is on fire and jumps to stand over the edge, forty feet from the water.

There are easier ways to do it, he muses. A rope, two slits to each wrist, pills, carbon monoxide – he could do that, go quiet, in his sleep, painless. But Polo figured he didn’t deserve that.

No, he deserved to end suffering.

‘ _You’re weak even when trying to kill yourself,’_ a dark voice in his head says.

They’re right.

No. He could do it. And he’d have to work really hard for it. Drowning, it isn’t the easiest choice, his body’s gonna push off it, fight it off. But he could do it, he has to, it’s the only way to end his pain.

He looks down at the shinning water and lets the tears roll down his cheeks, bathe him in his misery and wet his face, prep him to succumb to his fate. The one he deserves for doing what he did.

He takes a deep breath, enjoying the last bit of oxygen he’ll ever know and moves the tip of his dark brown shoes, edging closer.

‘Til he hears them.

“The fuck--,” Christian mutters, once he’s close enough to catch what’s going on.

“Polo,” it’s Carla calling after him.

He frowns and swallows, but he doesn’t turn to them. “How?” he breathes.

He can hear Carla’s heel-y boots taking a step closer. “Ander called me. He told me you ran off, said something about you not being able to take it anymore. _Amor_ ,” she says, calling again, her voice as soft as the summer breeze.

Polo’s lower lip trembles and he can’t stop crying.

“Polo, for _fuck’s_ sake,” Christian curses on his end, his voice is the entire opposite of Carla’s. He isn’t vulnerable, he’s pissed.

Polo closes his eyes; figures he deserves it. After all, it’s Christian’s best friend who’s rotting in jail because of his own doings.

“This is better for everyone,” Polo mutters, looking down.

“No, no, it isn’t. Polo, please,” Carla pleads, taking a step further.

“What is your ass dying gonna help? Man, c’mon,” it’s Christian speaking, frustrated.

Worried.

Polo raises his head again and looks over his shoulder. Carla stands a few feet away from him, Christian is right next to her. Polo shifts his eyes between them, they both look different, but yet the same.

They both look desperate.

“I can’t keep going like this, Carla,” Polo says, his face red and smushed.

Carla nods. “You don’t have to, love,” she says, calm but her eyes are watering. She raises her hand for him to grab. “Please, just, come here. You said you couldn’t be without me, remember? Well, I can’t be without you, either, just—please,” she speaks, batting her eyelashes with her sweet tone not changing.

Polo looks at his former girlfriend, there, pleading him to stop, and manages to feel even worse. He shakes his head no and looks down again.

“Polo, dammit, listen to her. Stop this,” Christian says, almost gritting his teeth.

Polo clicks his tongue. “You wanted her, you got her. Now you’re gonna have to take care of her, okay?” he says, softly, but he’s not facing them anymore. 

“No, fuck you,” Christian replies, his voice shifting to a trembling one, like when he found out Polo had killed Marina and ruined all their lives. “Don’t leave us,” he adds, three notes down, a tone Polo’s never heard on him before.

It makes him look over his shoulder again.

And Carla moves towards him once more. “Let us make it right, love, please,” she says, her hand up again. “Polo, we can make it right again. All three of us,” she adds, her eyebrows rising.

“Just get the fuck down there,” Christian adds, waving it off with one hand.

Polo turns slowly, shaking in sadness and shame, and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and he is.

He really is sorry.

That he killed Marina.

That he hurt Gúzman and his family.

That he loves Carla and Christian more than he can even comprehend.

That he can’t even kill himself to end his misery.

Polo stretches his arms and each of them grab one to pull him down, so hard that the three of them just fall on their knees on the floor. He lets his head fall on Carla’s shoulder and sighs, before he feels Christian rest his head on top of his, his arm at Polo's back.

Carla puts a hand on his cheek and rolls the tip of her thumb across his face, soothing. “We got you, don’t worry,” she mutters, and Polo hears her sniff.

He has an arm around both of them and just breathes in their scents, lets this moment be the only thought in his head.

“I swear to God, if you do that shit again…,” Christian says, like he’s half happy, half nervous.

Polo lets himself feel warm between them for the briefest eternity; he knows he’ll need to remember this once he’s lying alone and cold in his bed later tonight.

“Why’d you come here?” Polo still asks, his throat dry.

It breaks the hug, but doesn’t make them pull fully apart from him. Carla runs her hands through his hair and smiles at him as Christian speaks: “Because we protect each other,” he says, looking at Carla before looking at Polo.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still taking prompts on tumblr (buckyrhodey.tumblr.com); just try not to make them as sad as this one because I might not write it.


End file.
